


Post-Mortem

by skeilig



Series: Hill House Crossovers [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bill and Steve are horror author rivals/frenemies, Crossover, Eddie married Shirley instead of Myra, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Richie and Theo are gay-lesbian solidarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeilig/pseuds/skeilig
Summary: “Eddie, you didn’t tell us that your wife isShirley Crain,” Bill accuses when he returns to the room with a coffee in each hand.Eddie sighs. “I was dreading this.”“Eddie’sbrother-in-lawis my horror author rival-slash-frenemy.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Shirley Crain
Series: Hill House Crossovers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966096
Comments: 21
Kudos: 143





	Post-Mortem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avocadomoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avocadomoon/gifts).



> thank you for enabling this

The hospital contacts Eddie’s wife while he’s in surgery. Bill provided his own phone number in case she wanted to call for more information, which she does. They’re back at the Inn at that point, all getting washed up in the same bathroom—can’t really bear to be separated at this point—and Richie is glad for it because he gets to hear the one-sided phone conversation. It doesn’t seem to go well. 

Bill stammers worse than usual, turning away from the rest of the Losers. “Yeah, h-he’s– He got hurt– He’s in sss-suh-surgery now, if– Yeah– okay, I don’t know much more than you do, actually.” 

Richie winces at that one, throwing a glance at Bev who gives him a grimace in return. She’s wrapped in a towel, shimmying off her sewer-ruined clothes underneath, the way she used to change out of her wet underwear at the quarry when they were kids. Mike is in the shower at the moment, and Ben’s washing his feet in the sink, the swirling water turning gray against the porcelain sink. 

Bill backtracks: “Okay, Shh-Shirley? Shirley, right? I’m sorry, I’ve told you everything we know.” 

That’s obviously a lie. He hasn’t told her what happened to put her husband in surgery apart from ‘an accident.’ Her voice is loud through Bill’s receiver, the words indistinct but the tone indignant. Richie’s shoulder tense, like he’s the one being yelled at. 

Bill takes the phone call out of the bathroom and into the adjoined hotel suite in an attempt to find some privacy. Richie can hear him pacing the room for a few more minutes, occasionally getting in a couple words, but not much more than, “Yes, yes, okay, I hear you–” and “No, no, not at all–” 

Finally it all goes quiet. He returns to the bathroom door, still dressed only in his boxers, with a damp towel draped over his neck. 

“So?” Ben prompts, glancing up. “Is she coming?” 

“Yes,” Bill says crisply. “She’s in Massachusetts right now. She and her sister will drive up as soon as possible.” 

Bev gives him a sympathetic look. “Thanks for dealing with that, Bill.” 

“Yeah, she…” Bill pauses, tapping his phone against the palm of his hand. “She said—I probably shouldn’t be telling you guys this but—she said Eddie asked for a divorce yesterday?” 

“Oh shit,” Richie blurts. 

“What, like– over the phone?” Ben asks, looking around at the others with a nervous smile. “Yikes.”

+

When Eddie arrived at the Jade—not more than forty-eight hours ago, impossibly—he seemed agitated, even considering the circumstances of their reunion and the apparent fact that a normal restaurant menu for him is a death trap. His phone kept buzzing on the table, where he kept it face down next to his clenched hand. Each time, he would flip it over, read the message, the tick of his jaw the only visible reaction, and then turn it facedown again without replying to whoever it was.

He also kept twisting the wedding band on his left hand, so Richie had some bets as to who it was blowing up his phone. 

His suspicions were confirmed when Beverly started inquiring after everyone’s love life. Eddie said he’s married and Richie acted on some inane impulse to say, “What, to a woman?” as if he hadn’t been starting at Eddie’s ring finger all night. 

“What do you do, Eddie?” Ben asked him then, playing peacekeeper between Richie and an increasingly worked up Eddie. 

Eddie answered, “We own a funeral home.” 

The resulting silence led Richie to wonder if he did, in fact, suffer from tinnitus. 

“You own a funeral home?” Bev repeated finally, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You? Eds?” 

“My wife handles the– the–” Eddie waved a hand, trailing off, grappling for his wine glass. 

“Corpses?” Richie supplied, grinning. “Dead people?” 

“She’s a _mortician_ ,” Eddie said with comical enunciation, slicing a hand through the air. “I handle the business end of things.” 

“And she buries your bodies—literally,” Richie said, only spurred on when Eddie rolls his eyes. “Someone else’s turn, now that we all know what skeletons Eddie’s hiding in his closet.”

“Ha ha,” Eddie said flatly, but Richie could tell from the tight clench of his hand on top of his wine glass that his pressure gauge was ticking up. 

Richie has never known what’s good for him, so he kept pushing. “Does it bother you that your wife spends all days poking around inside of dead people?” He mimed what he believed a mortician probably does on the table in front of him using his chopsticks. “Does she ever forget and start fixing you up while you’re asleep?” 

Eddie gave him a level and unimpressed glare. “It’s actually really important work. I don’t have the stomach for it myself but it’s–”

“Oh, you don’t?” Richie interrupted. “I’m shocked. You don’t go down and watch her scoop out eyeballs?” 

“I’ll scoop out _your_ eyeballs,” Eddie snapped, his face going red. 

It was sort of an amazing moment, really, like the decades sloughed off. He looked and sounded younger, vibrant in his indignant, Richie-directed anger. It was so familiar, it was like a cattle prod to Richie’s brainstem, the jolt triggering a flood of memories. All the ways Richie used to try to gross out Eddie, throwing graywater-soaked socks at him, or hiding a spider in his cupped hands to try to slip down the back of Eddie’s shirt. Richie perversely latched onto anything that got a strong reaction out of Eddie, whether the reaction was positive or not, and like a drugged-out lab rat he pushed that button over and over. 

Now Richie just reared his head back and laughed a little, because that was the fun part, too. Eddie was always the one who snapped first, and then Richie got to tease him for flipping out. 

“No, I kid, but that’s really cool, Eds,” Richie said, and he meant it sincerely but he was still smirking, so he probably didn’t sell it. And to undercut it further, he added, “As they say, you attract what you fear.”

+

All in all, Eddie isn’t in terrible shape. His shoulder got dislocated, his arm and collarbone broken in the fall to the cave floor, but he’ll be able to heal from it. After the Losers get cleaned up and catch a couple restless hours of sleep—still huddled in the same hotel room, negotiating territory on the king size bed—they pile into Mike’s car and go to the hospital to visit Eddie.

It’s immediately clear that something is wrong. Eddie’s face is pale, his cell phone gripped in his hands, on his waffle-blanket covered lap. 

“Hey,” Richie says, lingering at the foot of his bed. “You’re alive.” 

“Yeah, hi,” Eddie says, nodding jerkily. It’s not the reception that Richie was expecting let alone hoping for. “Sorry, um. I just talked to Theo—my sister-in-law—they’re driving up here, apparently?” 

“Oh… yeah,” Bill says, running a hand through his hair. “I talked to Shirley earlier…” 

“Did you tell her where I am?”

Bill seems taken aback by Eddie’s hostile tone, which– fair enough. “Uh, the hospital did that, I believe, when they called her. Considering she’s your… wife.” 

“Where’s _your_ wife, Bill?” Eddie mumbles. 

That’s funny enough on its own and Bill makes such an offended face in reaction that Richie can’t help but snort a laugh. Luckily, Bev covers for him, clapping her hands together and saying, “Anyone need anything? Eddie? Need anything? Can you eat? Want something to eat? Or drink? Coffee?”

Then, without waiting for an answer, she leaves the room, shuffling Ben out the door with her. 

After a beat of silence, Mike says, “You know what, I’m gonna… go with them…” which gives Bill the perfect out as well, muttering something about how he hasn’t eaten since yesterday as they slip out the door. 

Richie turns to Eddie and realizes that they haven’t been alone together yet, not since they were kids. It feels as different now as it always did, time moving a bit slower, Richie so much more aware of his own breathing and what he’s doing with his hands and how often he looks at Eddie. An audience was the important context to a lot of Richie’s antics; maybe he was toying with Eddie for the amusement of their friends as much as his own, or so he could tell himself. Now, Richie looks away from Eddie. It’s hard to look at him because he looks small in his hospital bed and because the longer Richie looks at him the surer he is that he’s in love with him. 

“What do they got you on?” Richie asks, tapping the back of his own hand, where Eddie’s IV is taped. He slides into one of the chairs by the bedside, scooting it closer, the metal feet screeching in protest against the linoleum floor. “I ask because you just made a very funny but sort of nonsensical crack about Bill’s wife.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Eddie says, sighing wistfully. “They’ll be here in three hours.”

“So, um,” Richie begins, and stops, his throat clicking. He swallows thickly. “I heard that you… asked for a divorce?” 

He didn’t really want to say that. It’s sort of like being in a dream because he’s speaking very slowly but feels powerless to stop himself. 

Eddie visibly tenses at the question, his hands flexing in his lap. He’s no longer wearing the wedding band, Richie notices because he can’t help but notice; he wonders if that’s standard surgery procedure or if Eddie removed the ring himself. He feels suddenly compelled to google this question for some clarity. 

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie says, chuckling darkly. “Yeah, I guess I did?” 

Not the most reassuring answer. 

“Do you want a divorce?” Richie tries, fighting to keep his tone level. 

Eddie nods at first, a slow bob of his head before he says, “Yeah. Yeah, I do. It was getting bad, and– with the business we were just–” He makes some gesture, waving his hands wildly, “– _constantly_ , you know, and, _fuck_ , her sister just died.” Eddie pauses for a moment, scrubbing at his eyes. “Got the call in the middle of the night. Killed herself. And Shirl, she doesn’t… deal with things like that very well, she just froze me out. And then the next day, bam, Mike calls me. Now I have to leave in the middle of _that_ , I can’t even give a reason, really, and I couldn’t go to the funeral, I had to come here. How would I ever begin to explain that?” 

There’s a beat of silence as Eddie stares open-mouthed at Richie, his chest heaving slightly. He could always wear himself out just by speaking. Maybe he forgets to breathe. The only difference now is that he doesn’t grapple for his inhaler. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty… tough,” Richie says, totally inadequate. “Shit,” he adds, with enough feeling to sell it. 

“Shit,” Eddie agrees. He crumples a little, hands over his eyes. “I missed Nell’s funeral. That’s– I haven’t even processed it really. I didn’t know her that well, but I went to her wedding, you know, and now… They all must hate me.”

Richie’s whole chest aches in sympathy, and he has no idea what to say, so he grabs Eddie’s hand. After a moment, Eddie turns his hand over to intertwine their fingers. 

“You couldn’t have done anything different,” Richie tells him, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he’s holding Eddie’s hand, the same hand where he’s no longer wearing a wedding ring. He tries to keep the pressure of his grip steady, not squeezing too hard, not moving his hand too much, as if afraid to remind Eddie that they’re touching. “You did what you had to do.” 

Eddie nods slowly. He rubs his thumb over the back of Richie’s hand, and Richie’s pulse jumps. “You know,” he starts, “the other day, when I told Shirley I wanted a divorce, she said she’s cheated on me. Only once, apparently, but.” He shrugs. “I think she only said it to hurt me.”

Richie squeezes his hand a bit, says, “I’m sorry, Eddie.” 

Eddie nods, and he lifts his arm to rub his nose on the loose sleeve of his hospital gown, not letting go of Richie’s hand as he does it. 

“But she’s still coming here,” Richie says. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing at this point. 

“Yeah, probably to tell me off in person,” Eddie says with a rueful laugh. 

“What do you think about telling her the truth?” Richie asks. 

Eddie turns to look him in the eye, still holding his hand. His expression is at first indignant, affronted by Richie’s suggestion, but then it slowly softens. “Well,” he says. “I could tell her the truth. My other plan was faking a psychotic break so if she doesn’t believe me that’ll do the trick.”

+

“Eddie, you didn’t tell us that your wife is _Shirley Crain_ ,” Bill accuses when he returns to the room with a coffee in each hand.

Richie makes grabby hands for the coffee, but Bill ignores him.

Eddie sighs. “I was dreading this.” 

Richie gets up from his chair, reaching across Eddie’s bed so he can take one of the coffees. “Why? What does that mean?”

Eddie crosses his arms, sinking back into his bed. “Bill can explain.” 

“Eddie’s _brother-in-law_ is my horror author rival-slash-frenemy.”

Richie’s not following. “What?” He blinks. “Rival and frenemy are synonyms.” 

“Not really,” Bill says sagely. 

“I used to defend your writing,” Eddie says, his cheeks red. “This is humiliating for me to admit, but I own all your books and Steve gives me a hard time for it every time he visits.”

Bill’s face lights up. “You were a fan.” 

“I guess I know why now,” Eddie mutters. 

“Hey, come on,” Bill says, nudging Eddie’s legs aside so he can sit perched on the edge of the bed. “You could be a fan based on the merit of my work and not due to repressed childhood memories.” 

“Probably a mix of both,” Eddie says, and then reaches for the second coffee, which Bill gives to him.

“Wait,” Richie says, shaking his head. “ _Who_ is your brother-in-law?”

+

Richie’s still in the room when Eddie’s wife arrives.

Shirley has long dark brown hair, falling in loose curls. She wears a practical long sleeve shirt, leggings tucked into boots. Richie’s first impression is that she seems a lot like Eddie; seemingly put-together, composed at first glance, but with a roiling energy just below the surface. Her hand is clutched around her car keys hard enough to turn her knuckles white, and she holds her mouth in a tight embouchure as if trying really hard to keep everything inside. Her sister Theo, flanking her, keeps her gloved hands in the back pockets of her skinny jeans, her slouched posture off-setting her height a bit. 

The first thing Eddie says, when he glances up at his wife standing in the now open door, is, “You didn’t have to come.” 

Richie flinches a little, standing up from the bedside chair to take a few steps away. He doesn’t particularly want to get caught in the crossfire. 

“Eddie,” Shirley says, voice disconcertingly steady. “What the fuck. I mean, really. What the fuck.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, her shoulders shuddering. Theo stands behind her, a steadying hand rubbing her back. 

“I can explain but it’s a really— _really_ —long story,” Eddie says, his voice quavering. 

“It fucking better be,” Shirley snaps. She crosses the room then, Richie stepping out of the way to clear the path for her, to hover around Eddie’s injured right shoulder. “What happened?” she asks, and it’s not angry anymore or flat with restrained emotion, it’s tremulous with raw concern.

“I’ll tell you,” Eddie says, clearly choked up. “I’ll tell you everything.”

Shirley sits in the chair Richie’s just vacated. She doesn’t touch him, instead crossing her arms tightly over her own chest. 

“And, um, fuck, Shirl,” Eddie says, stammering. “How are–? Nell’s–? Are you okay?” 

“No, I’m not,” she says, and covers her mouth with a hand, rocking forward in the chair. “I’m really not okay.” 

Eddie reaches for her, but he’s still in the hospital bed, a two foot chasm between him and where Shirley sits, so he end up just twisted toward her, his hands resting on the edge of the bed.

Watching them, Richie feels a horrible nauseous pit in his stomach, even if he knows their relationship is dead in the water. There’s still something between them that will always be unique, and things that she must know about Eddie that Richie never will, experiences that will always hold the two of them together. 

Richie meets Theo’s eyes then, and she’s backing toward the door. She nods at him, then turns to leave. Richie breaks out of his spell and follows, relieved to not have to witness any more.

+

Richie’s at the waiting room vending machine, punching the requisite combination of letters and numbers for a bag of Cheez-Its, when Theo slides up next to him.

“Hi,” she says, pulling the tailored leather glove from her right hand. “I’m Theo, by the way. Shirley’s sister.” 

Richie’s Cheez-Its take their death plunge to the bottom of the vending machine. He glances at Theo and takes her extended hand. 

“Hi,” he says. “Richie. Friend of Eddie’s.” He tries to pull his hand back, but she holds on tighter, her hand warm and her smile pleasant but sort of detached and blank.

“Well, you had quite the past few days,” she says, still holding his hand and staring at him.

Richie feels an unexplainable shiver at the base of his spine. He pulls his hand back, yanking away more firmly this time, and Theo lets go. She cocks her head, still watching him, as Richie stoops to retrieve his snack. 

“Um, yeah,” Richie says, noncommittally, still confused by what the fuck _that’s_ supposed to mean. As far as he knows, Eddie has told Shirley next to nothing about their business in Derry, so Theo should know even less. He fumbles to tear open the bag and pops a few crackers into his mouth, staying busy to try to cover for the way his hands are trembling. 

“Kinda weird that you’re trying to steal my sister’s husband,” Theo says nonchalantly, which causes Richie to promptly start choking on the Cheez-Its. While he coughs into his elbow, she says, “I’m joking. But I’m gay, too, so like.” She makes some unenthused gesture with one hand. “Go team.”

“Okay,” Richie says, still wheezing a little. How could he have been that obvious? She’s been here for like, five minutes. “Um.” 

“You wanna know the crazy thing,” Theo says, completely ignoring Richie’s reaction, “is that I tried to tell Shirley that Eddie’s gay, like, four years ago. And she totally flipped on me. She thought I was trying to ruin her perfect little life, or that I had read too much into something. What do you think the statute of limitations is on ‘I told you so’s for a divorce?”

“Um.” Richie opens and closes his mouth a few times, blinking. “Eddie’s…?”

“Nice to meet you,” Theo says with finality, reaching to pat his arm before she turns and walks away. She disappears down the hallway before Richie can even process what just hit him.

“What the fuck,” Richie mutters to himself.

+

Richie loiters in the waiting room for an hour, running down the battery on his phone and bouncing his leg incessantly, and digging through his wallet to see if he has enough quarters to buy another snack. (He doesn’t.)

He’s tapping out his wallet into the palm of his hand again, hoping to shake something loose, when Shirley approaches him. 

He sees her boots first, entering his periphery vision; he snaps his head up. “Hi,” he says. 

“Hi,” Shirley says, then pauses.

Richie realizes she probably doesn’t even know his name, or anything about him. Of course not. It’s not as if Eddie spent the past hour telling her about Richie in particular. 

Shirley adjusts the purse strap on her shoulder and asks, “Have you seen Theo?”

“Yeah, she went…” Richie points off down the hallway. 

“Thanks,” Shirley says shortly and turns to leave. 

Richie blurts out, “Hey, I’m sorry about your sister. Really sorry. Eddie told me.” 

Shirley frowns, the lines around her mouth deepening. “Thanks,” she says again, with no more emotion, before giving Richie a little nod and then turning to leave.

+

“Hey,” Richie says softly, when he pokes his head into Eddie’s room.

Eddie’s sitting up in his bed, staring straight ahead. He looks a little pale and seems distracted as he glances over to Richie, as if struggling to focus his eyes. Richie eases the door shut behind him and takes a couple steps closer. 

“Hey,” Richie says again. “How’d it go?”

“Actually… pretty well,” Eddie says. “I think. She and Theo are gonna stay at a hotel tonight. They’ll say goodbye before they go back home in the morning.”

“So did you…” Richie starts hesitantly. “How much did you…?”

“Everything,” Eddie says with a little laugh. 

“Holy shit, really?” Richie slides into the chair by his bedside again, where Shirley had been sitting, and leans forward intently. “Everything? Did she believe you or did you go with Plan B and make her think you’re crazy?”

“No, she believed me, and she…” Eddie trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know, I’ll tell you later, it’s a really long story, but I think there might have been a reason we found each other, you know what I mean?” 

Richie’s heart splinters a little further, looking at the sad smile on Eddie’s face. He wants to ask if the divorce is still on and he wants to ask why Theo thinks he’s gay, and he wants to tell him he loves him, but he knows he probably (definitely) shouldn’t do any of that. Instead, he says, “Later?”

Eddie’s face falls by a degree. He adjusts his hands in his lap, folding them the other way. He’s still not wearing his wedding ring, for what it’s worth. “Oh, right, you probably have to get back home,” he says, shooting a strained smile at Richie before he quickly looks away again. “Thanks for spending so much time with me, you really didn’t have to do that. When are you leaving?” 

“I… I wasn’t planning on leaving,” Richie says slowly. 

He _wasn’t_ planning on leaving, he doesn’t want to, but he’s surprised to hear that Eddie is on the same page. Richie goes through life expecting everyone around him to get sick of him—and it’s not totally irrational or self-pitying, people have been known to get sick of him—so he’s well attuned to the early signs. He’ll see himself out well before anyone asks him to fuck off. 

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Okay. I mean, I’ll be out of here soon enough.” 

“Cool.” Richie leans back in his chair, trying to remember what casual body language looks like. He makes a close enough approximation by crossing his legs, one ankle resting atop his knee. “I canceled the rest of my tour so I have nowhere to be.” 

“Shit, I forgot you were on tour.” Eddie looks genuinely concerned which makes Richie laugh. “Is that… gonna be a problem?” 

“Yeah, man,” Richie says, still laughing. “It’s definitely going to be a problem. You wanna listen to some of the voicemails my manager left me? Or I could do a dramatic reading of my email inbox, one sec…”

As Richie scrolls through his phone, desperate to do something to entertain Eddie and lighten the mood, Eddie hums and says, “I guess I’ll drive back to Massachusetts when they let me out of here. The problem with the divorce is–”

Richie flinches a little at the word, briefly dropping his phone into his own lap. 

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, still staring forlornly at the blank wall in front of him. “–I’m also out of a job… And I don’t _think_ I want to keep running funeral homes so that’s a good ten years of experience down the drain. Great.” 

Richie furrows his brow, sort of amused and perplexed by this train of thought. “You mean you don’t want to go in on a crematorium with me, Eds? I’m crushed.” 

Eddie shoots him a look. “Hilarious.”

“I’m not joking,” Richie insists, grinning. “I’m also out of a job, and I’m not planning on leaving you alone any time soon.”

He watches Eddie’s reaction closely after saying that. This is basically Richie’s strategy: say what he really means, but say it as a joke, see how it lands, push it a little farther next time.

Eddie looks at him for a moment, his eyes narrowed, before he huffs a laugh. “Bullshit, it’s not like you’re ‘unemployed’ or anything. What do you even do, go on a tour once a year?”

“It’s very strenuous,” Richie says airily. “You wouldn’t understand the type of pressure I’m under.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Eddie says, smiling wryly. “You work one hour per day? That’s really tough. You poor thing.” 

Richie could point out Eddie’s absurd assumption that Richie is only working when he’s literally _on stage_ , but for now he decides to play along. Besides, there’s something about Eddie’s condescending voice that gets Richie embarrassingly worked up, so he’s not playing with a full deck. 

“Yeah, look, I’m graying prematurely, look at this shit.” Richie leans forward, tilting his head and swiping his hair back from his temples, where he knows the gray is most concentrated. He realizes only belatedly that he’s acting ridiculous, and that his face is now practically in Eddie’s lap. 

But Eddie only laughs and pushes his head away; in doing so, his fingers briefly run through Richie’s hair, causing a full body shiver that runs down the length of his spine. 

“I don’t think it’s premature at this point, Rich,” Eddie says. 

Richie falls back in his chair. His face is probably red, but Eddie’s smiling at him so he smiles back. “When I drop dead of a stress-induced heart attack, then you’ll see.” 

There’s a flicker of something darker across Eddie’s face and he says, “Didn’t your dad…?” 

“Yes,” Richie says quickly, kicking himself for accidentally steering them back into a serious conversation. 

Eddie fidgets with his hands. “Okay, so, I really want to grill you about your diet now and—do you smoke? Please tell me you don’t usually smoke this much—but I also feel like you’re going to leave if I do that, so I’ll rein it in.” 

Richie barks a laugh, too surprised to stop the reflex. “Um, don’t worry about it. You can ask me whatever invasive medical questions your neurotic little brain needs to relax. You’re the hospitalized and divorced and unemployed and homeless one, so yeah, don’t fucking worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Eddie’s maybe laughing too much to pick up on Richie’s earnest declaration—he’s _not_ going anywhere, not until Eddie tells him to—and he says, “Okay, yeah, good point, fuck you. You’re going to sit here and tell me all the horrible lifestyle habits you’ve obviously picked up or never outgrown and I’m going to yell at you for it.” 

Richie’s smiling so wide. “Yeah, sounds perfect. Let’s do that."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series because I have at least one more crossover idea about Steve and Bill that could be in the same contiguous universe as this fic. I’ll finish that at some point…


End file.
